Team Penguin
by MonkeyCrunch
Summary: You've heard it before - a group of wanted psychopaths and criminals gang up to take down the Batman. Only this time, Gotham City isn't the only target. With an alien bomb, it's the entire world...
1. Chapter 1

It was raining. Again.

Penguin didn't like Gotham. Every major defeat, every single loss of money, every drug smuggling route uncovered, every operation sent crashing down in flames…it all happened here, courtesy of the bloody Batman. And it had been raining _then_ too. Ever since he'd been released from confinement on parole, he'd come to realise he had no more than two coins to rub together – evidence of which included that his temporary base was a draughty museum in the old site of Arkham City. There wasn't even a toilet. And when you were about to form an organization full of super criminals and escaped psychopaths who could pull out a gun and shoot you just for kicks, you needed to empty your bladder at worryingly frequent intervals. Just when he was wondering whether he could sneak a quick one into a potted plant (assuming that a dusty old dungeon like this even had a potted plant), he could hear Joker running his mouth as usual in the large main exhibit hall and decided he'd better intervene before it was someone else dictating the meeting. He walked as fast as he could without looking demented, tightening his tie and fur coat around him as he waddled towards the ebony doors.

 _"So I walk into a bar. And the guy behind the bar's all like, hey man, we don't serve clowns in here. Get rid of the makeup or get lost. Now obviously, he needs to learn a little respect, so I get my knife, and stick right up his-"_

Penguin shoved them forward with the tip of his ornate umbrella in time to see the green-haired weirdo halfway through some sort of jig. He'd been in this dying excuse for a city long enough to recognise everybody there, so when he saw the oddest collection of people he'd most likely ever see in his life, it was only via past experience that he managed to avoid suffering a heart attack.

Leaning against the propped up corpses of Joker's old goons from the gang war with a superior smirk on his face was Edward Nigma, the ex-GCPD data handler who was now a raving egomaniac who never bothered washing. Standing in a strict, upright position in front of the remains of the dinosaur bone exhibit was the similar burned remains of Two Face, flipping the coin as per usual. The stern helmet-headed mercenary Deathstroke sat with his arms folded, obviously expecting an attack at any moment. And finally, the Joker skipped around grinning while the Mad Hatter looked on as if he'd never seen anything as mesmerising. It was almost as if he as about to wet himself. While Penguin had originally debated to have people as mentally unstable as those two on board, risk was sometimes all you had. Plus, Joker was wanted in several other surrounding countries, states and cities, meaning he basically had nobody else to turn to. His old gang wasn't up to its usual strength, and even the self-proclaimed Clown Prince of Crime knew he couldn't match the Cobblepot empire just yet. When a big enemy was desperate enough to become an ally, Penguin decided it was alright to trust him. For the meantime.

"Gentlemen." Penguin began, standing before them. He said nothing else in ways of greeting. Commending people you utterly despised most of the time was a waste of words. "I thank you all for being here. "

He wanted added "you wankers" but decided against it.

"I am here because I'm curious." Came a snarky interruption from the corner, to which Penguin turned, glaring. Nigma. Of course it was Nigma. Who else? "I never gave permission to be an underling in your band of thugs, Cobblepot. I'll let you indulge the fantasy for a while, but why should I bother be here any longer?"

"Excuse me?" barked the dangerous growl of Two Face. "I broke you out of Arkham for this, specs. You owe me! You owe us all!"

"I owe the technical wonder of dynamite and gasoline, but to you, my physically divided friend, I owe absolutely nothing."

"Not to mention the fact that one of us is only here for the money" interjected Joker, clearly trying to irk Deathstroke.

"I come for the glory too, clown." Responded the mercenary, his arms still folded. "I do it for honour and respect in the world, whereas you do it just because you're bored."

"Well that's just upsetting."

"You're a dirty little toreag Joker, do you know that? If I'd known from the start that you were here and not someone I respect like Deadshot, I would have left right then and there."

"I'm a lot more than that."

 _"Enough!"_ shouted Penguin, so loud that his cigar fell from his mouth in a trail of smoke and ash. Joker paused halfway through drawing out his pop gun, Deathstroke, his two blades. Hatter even jumped. "You want to fight each other, gentlemen? Why do that for no reward when we can all unite against a common enemy? It's a pretty cliché idea, but as old grandad Cobblepot used to say, simple is best."

Penguin's grandfather was a gun runner who'd been killed after the American navy torpedoed and sunk his transport ship. It had happened just two weeks after Penguin himself had been born.

"An idea like this has been tried before." Deathstroke murmured in monotone. "Suicide Squad was a group that tried to tackle the Bat. It failed. Lex Luthor, a man even richer than Bruce Wayne from Metropolis attempted to tackle the Bat too. That failed. A common goal isn't always a good thing, Cobblepot."

Penguin frowned. His grand scheme was being undermined by a military veteran in coloured spandex. "I don't mean we just want to kill the Batman. I mean, _why_ do we want to kill the Batman? What does it achieve for us? You, even?"

He had to give himself some gratitude for making such a lie in such a short time.

"This is where we differ, gentlemen. What we want after the ruddy bastard's history is entirely varied. Mr Wilson, you want money. You want respect. And I've got both. You'll be bloody rich by the time the day is through when the geezer's head's on the chopping block."

Deathstroke didn't seem to move an inch, but Penguin decided to take this as an agreement. He turned to Hatter.

"You, Mr Tetch, want your…girl, am I right?"

"My Alice, my poor, poor Alice." Cried out Hatter, breaking into genuine tears. "All I want to find her and bring her home. It's all I want."

"Right…well, you'll be free to search for as many…ah… _Alices_ as you want if we win this."

He slowly turned back to the others. "The same goes for each of you. The Batman will not be able to stop us once he's six feet under. We kill him, we run this town. So my plan is this: gentlemen, we're going to steal the Doomsday device."

Four men smiled. One looked confused.

"What's a Doomsday Device?" asked Hatter.

"Not _a_ , but _the_ Doomsday Device. It's a bomb. Developed by the hairless alien inferior _Brainiac_." Riddler spat with undisguised hatred. "A monument to the arrogant notion that money is everything. There's no bang or explosion, just a flash of light and the instant destruction of everything for fifty miles around."

"Well, trashing the evidence at GCPD for the thing will ensure Batman arrives to stopus. But that's just the beginning. We ransom him, the government the entire bloody world in exchange for their lives…it will reach the price, people for an early retirement."

Silence. The effect was good.

"Picture it: this stinking country a desolate wasteland as a warning for everyone who wants to try crossing us again. The skies unbreathable, the dirty little citizens dried out corpses we walk over. We'll be wealthy, feared and above all, untouchable."

"I've got a question." Broke in Two Face.

"No questions."

"You say we just stroll on in and take the Device from the lockup, just like that. My question is-"

"No questions." Snapped Penguin.

"If the thing's as powerful as you say it is-"

"No questions, you old sod."

"- the police are obviously going to put it under high security. It'll be incredibly hard, most likely impossible to take the damn thing."

"Well first of all," began Penguin, chewing the end of his cigar to keep the temper in check. "I said no questions. It's a rule I established just right there. Secondly, it's no accident I chose you specifically, gentlemen. We each have our own dubious abilities that will be taking candy from babies."

"Being doing that sort of thing lately, have you Cobblepot?" purred Joker from the corner, his grin so large he looked ready to eat his own face. "Oh, how the mighty family legacy has fallen."

"It's an expression, you intellectually barren numbskull!" snapped Nigma, sparing Penguin the task of a cuss-filled lecture.

"Well when you're finished acting like prats and are ready to listen up, I'll go into more depth. Paying attention now, are we? Good. Let's begin."


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred sighed and wheeled the dinner tray backed into the kitchen, carrying a meal Master Bruce had yet again refused. He'd barely slept after the breakout from Arkham Asylum, where some of his worst enemies were running around loose, causing chaos. Except – well, there wasn't any chaos besides the usual petty street vandalisms and thuggish robberies. Too trivial for the Batman; they could be sorted out by the GCPD just fine without his help. And this worried Bruce.

His costumed nemesis the Joker, in particular, seemed to be acting strangely. He was completely endorsed in a love hate relationship with the Dark Knight and would have usually held a city official hostage or done something similar in order to gain some attention. But, like the other five escapees, he was apparently lying low. Very worrying.

"They're planning something big, Alfred. I don't want to believe it, but it's the only logical explanation. But the good thing is that being as dysfunctional as they are, one or two of them are bound to slip up at some time." He'd just told him, not bothering to divert his eyes from the Batcomputer.

Alfred had encouraged him to eat a slice of ham, but the glare he received was answer enough. No normal person could jump, punch, investigate and battle crime on an empty stomach, yet some of that playboy arrogance must have at some point penetrated the alter ego's exterior – Bruce obviously didn't categorise himself as a normal person any more.

He poured the food into the bin, and sighed again. He could hear the ground rumbling beneath the kitchen floor, which meant the Batmobile was starting up. Not even a goodbye. Although Alfred made it a point not to directly contradict or argue with his employer, it would be nice to actually sit down and have a good chat like they did back when Bruce was younger. If it wasn't private parties or opening ceremonies, it was public announcements or…this. Then again, times changed and it was no good living in the past, but instead looking to the future.

 _You'll be able to talk someday, old friend._ He thought to himself. And he walked back to the hidden staircase to open the communications channel.

"Talk me through it, Commissioner." Batman growled in his gravelly façade, surveying the wrecked scene.

"Well, it looks like a regular homicide. Except the fingerprints we discovered match the Penguin's. So we know it was him." Gordon murmured, trying to avoid looking at the hole torn clean through the victim's chest. "Brutal, sudden. No signs of a struggle. Probably just walked in and shot the poor bloke with some sort of rifle."

He looked back to the Caped Crusader. "To be honest, I don't understand why this particularly bothers you."

"It bothers me because this isn't like Penguin's usual behaviour. Whenever he commits a murder, it's usually over business in the black market, mainly to stamp out a competitor or rival of some description. This is entirely uncoordinated and messy for a professional like him. He'd have his assassins on the job instead of doing it himself; he wouldn't want to risk his neck. Which makes it suspicious that the matter was attended to personally."

Gordon looked uneasy. "I don't know…I mean, we've searched the house top to bottom and we've found absolutely no evidence of criminal activity. No guns, drugs, nothing. According to the neighbours, he was a perfectly nice fellow who lived alone. The only slightly strange thing was that none of them actually knew his name."

"Either way Gordon, I'd like a few moments alone with the crime scene." Batman said, and Gordon obligingly waved the surrounding officers and forensic men to clear out. As soon as he heard the front door of the house click shut, he opened the comm channel built into his headset.

"Alfred" he barked, "I'm uploading some fingerprints for analysis. Let me know what comes back."

"Of course, sir" came the ever-polite reply from the other end. "And here we are…they belong to one Fred James. Only…hmmm…that's peculiar."

"What is?"

"The only record I can find of this man is in a biological database. There's no birth certificate, passports, driving licenses, or any form of identification."

"None of his neighbours knew who he was, either. This man must have been attempting to hide something. Or someone, for that matter. There must be something the police overlooked. I'll contact you when I find something else."

"Very good, then."

Alfred closed the channel and sighed for a third time. So certain he'd manage to find something else. _Not all crimes can be solved by dinner, you know,_ he almost wanted to say.

He just didn't want to receive another glare again.


End file.
